For once, Sayaka hadn't called any of her fellow doctoral students before taking off to the bar. She needed to distract herself from her lack of progress, surround herself with people who had something to talk about other than their lack of progress.

Hardly had she taken a seat when the bartender, one of these interchangeable brusque European women with a Manchester United pin (if there was one thing Sayaka had learned in English even faster than molecule names, it was football rivalries), put something blue-tinged and vodka-scented at her place. "Courtesy of the young lady down at the end, miss."

Sayaka wasn't sure she'd followed the phrase (she was much better at the vocabulary for proteome folding), but she followed the bartender's nod. Sure enough, her gaze landed on a cute young Japanese woman, who grinned and waved like she was posing for a photo booth. The pink hair in twintails made her look awfully young, but Sayaka was pretty sure the woman was about her age.

Also, as she found out once they were in a booth together, Madoka was fascinated by genomics.

***

The hologram projected across the largest wall of Sayaka's apartment (which wasn't large at all, but you took what you could get), showing off spinning ribbons of protein and false-color molecules.

"Neuromuscular disorders develop when the proteins used by muscle cells aren't developed correctly," she explained, between shallow breaths. "We're testing drug therapies based on the most effective proteins predicted by—by computer models of—mmm, no, lower—"

Madoka, on the chair beside hers with her chin on Sayaka's shoulder, obligingly slid her hand deeper into Sayaka's underwear. "Sugoi desu, Sayaka-chan."

Her small breasts pressed against Sayaka's arm through her thin cotton shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra; Sayaka could feel every curve. "I-if you're humoring me, it's okay. I know I get carried away—and it's all sort of technical—and—" Madoka's thumb circled her, lazy, sultry, exactly the way she liked it. "Ohh—"

"Not at all! Your passion, it's so attractive. I promise, I'm interested—" Madoka's fingers worked her over; Sayaka grabbed the chair's flimsy cloth-wrapped armrests and bit back a cry. "—in everything that comes out of your mouth."

"If that's so...." Half-feverish from the heat, Sayaka still managed to swivel enough to lock one arm around Madoka's waist, holding her in place to tongue her ear. "You're missing out."

Madoka squeaked. "Ooh, Saya-chan! You'll distract me! Is that what you want?"

"But you're so cute when you're distracted," breathed Sayaka, hand wriggling under Madoka's shirt. "I bet—I could get off just on—the noises you make—when—"

She found Madoka's stomach and tickled.

Laughing uncontrollably, Madoka tried to wrestle away. Sayaka clamped her thighs together, pinning Madoka's hand, and in their struggle they tumbled to the floor, Madoka on her back on the cheap rug with Sayaka straddling her hips. With surprising strength for her tiny frame Madoka grabbed Sayaka's wrists and dragged her down into a kiss.

She held her arms above her head, gentle and almost submissive, loving eyes and a petal-pink smile. Sayaka pushed her thin white shirt up over her head—sure enough, no bra—and started lavishing openmouthed kisses across Madoka's slender torso, the rosy flesh undulating over her frame with every gasp of breath.

Sayaka kissed the hollow between her breasts. "If I'd known you when I was a child, I'm sure it would have been."

Madoka giggled, gentle this time. "I meant your proteins."

"Oh!...Sort of." Sayaka sat back to get her jeans off, pushing them down off her hips, over her knees.

Her childhood dream had focused more on Kyousuke and transnational concert tours, but under that, deeper than that, was the need to feel useful. Wishing to heal Kyousuke hadn't filled it. Fighting demons had salved it for a while, until it had become clear what a disposable cog she was in a global machine (she hadn't had to transform once since getting here; young British puella magi had the local demons under control). Using science to help people who had never been able to play violin at all...it might fail eventually, but for now she still held out the hope that if she worked hard enough, got good enough, it would all be worthwhile.

Not like she could explain any of that to a random bar hookup. Instead she reached for Madoka's waistband.

Madoka caught her wrist. "Sayaka-chan...come back here first?"

Sayaka sank down onto her elbows and obligingly pressed her lips once more to Madoka's.

A soft-skinned thigh pressed up between her bare legs, and Sayaka's balance wavered. Her hips jerked of their own accord, grinding her pussy against Madoka's leg. "Ffff—oh, that's so—Madoka-chan, please, I wanted—"

"Sh-sh-shh." Madoka kissed the corner of her mouth. "Let go, Sayaka. You've been working so hard. Just this once, let go and let yourself be taken care of."

Her words pierced with an archer's marksmanship the heart of all Sayaka's recent insecurities.

With a grateful moan, Sayaka began to piston her hips in earnest.

***

The holoprojector was still running, making colorful wheels of chemicals dance across the ceiling. She really needed to get up and turn that off.

Maybe in a minute.

"Hang on, you didn't...." She put her hand on Madoka's head (resting across her stomach, which was probably a much softer pillow than the bare floor), threading fingers through her tangled locks. "We don't have to stop, just because I...I'm used to making other women come first, you see...."

"Don't worry about it," said Madoka, blushing. "I sort of have to run off soon."

"You do? Do you want to use my shower?" (Pink hair plastered to Madoka's neck, water drops running down her bare legs....) "I could go down on you in the shower!"

"No time." Madoka sat up, turning this way and that in search of her discarded shirt. "Don't apologize, Sayaka-chan. I loved every minute."

"Maybe next time," said Sayaka without thinking.

Madoka made a noncommittal noise of agreement.

Sayaka sat bolt upright, ignoring the roughness of the carpet on her bare butt. "Did that mean...? Will there be a next time? You haven't even told me your full name!"

"It's Kaname. Kaname Madoka." She pulls the shirt over her head. There's a pink jewel hanging low on the neckline at the front, and for a weird moment Sayaka doesn't remember whether it was there before. Stupid, right? As if clothing could shapeshift when she wasn't looking.

"Okay, now you've only told me your full name. There are a million Kanames. I used to babysit for a family called Kaname. Don't I get your email, your mobile number, your handle name?"

Madoka didn't seem to hear. She was gazing at one of the holographic proteins, a red and gold squiggle drifting past her in slow rotation. Her pale hand brushed over it, as if petting a cat. "You should test this one next, I think."

"What? Why?"

Her smile was angelic in its innocence. "No reason. I just have a good feeling about it."

"You're dodging the question," said Sayaka, with more than a bit of a pout.

Madoka sank to one knee next to her and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry so much, Sayaka-chan. I found you once. I'll find you again."